Bouquet
by Xylina-Furiae
Summary: King Alistair apologizes to Anora. For everthing.  Angst/Fluff, mentioned Alistair/Warden


The Blight was over. He watched as the final blow was taken, his comrade and sister-in-arms, his love, fallen on the ground as the Archdemon took its last breath.

Alistair had loved the other Warden dearly, and his heart swelled and ached at the sight of her body lifeless on the ground, covered in blood of the Archdemon.

He remembered the trek back to the palace to be a hard and arduous one, his limbs aching, his heart broken. Leliana told him to keep his chin up. He was getting married, after all.

Yes. He returned to the Palace. He pretended to smile at her, pretended to feel something as he kissed her, he even pretended to be hurt when she took her hand away from him and told him not to touch her.

In time, he grew angry. Angry with the Warden who left him. The one with too much pride to let him just partake in that stupid ritual. What would 15 minutes of torture have been compared to the never-ending heartache he felt now? So Morrigan would have ran off pregnant with some bastard child, it wasn't as if he wasn't at least passing on some common characteristic. But, no, for all of that, for all of this, that Warden chose to die. She chose to leave him here, desperate and aching, ornery and sullen. For what?

He caught himself thinking this as he sat in the garden, his legs folded beneath him, tearing a rose apart with gloved fingers. It dawned on him, suddenly, that perhaps it wasn't her he missed at all. She was, suffice to say, his first love. The first girl he had ever laid with, the first girl he ever kissed. It occurred to him that Anora must feel so abandoned, the one person she ever loved having left her for a war and a battle he knew all too well he would lose. And he left her anyway. And for what, to make a point?

He and Anora were rather the same, weren't they?

He shook his head, brushing the rose pieces off of his thighs with a few sweeps of his hands, and stood from where he was sitting, a cramp in his backside from where he sat on a tree root. He ignored it, determined. Maybe he wasn't in love with Anora, but he certainly couldn't let her go on the way he knew he had been. It wouldn't be right to let a woman sit and cry the way he knew he did, damning the Maker and everything the sun touched for the pain in his chest.

It was time to start making the last few months up to her. What did girls like, again? Right, flowers. There were so many rose bushes in the garden… He could make her a great big bouquet of them, and bring them to her in their room. Tell her everything. Maybe, just maybe she'd understand… And if not, then he supposed he'd have to try a little harder.

He made his way to the row of rose bushes that lined the wall of the garden, and silently looked them over, picking them apart with his eyes. He'd be damned if he was going to bring her anything but pristine flowers after how he'd acted since their wedding. With gloved fingers he plucked roses from their bushes, gathering them in his hand until even he couldn't hold anymore, and smiled to himself. This would do, certainly. At least, he hoped so.

Alistair returned to the doors leading into the castle and pushed it open with his shoulder, navigating the long and dark halls back to his and Anora's bedroom. He never noticed just how dark it really was. Was he so down that he couldn't recognize the necessity for natural light? He pushed the thought away as he poked his head into the room, and found Anora reclined on the chaise inside, reading a book of some sort. She lifted her head, aware of his presence, and Alistair felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on-end as her eyes peered into his own.

He smiled, nervously, his hands behind his back.

"What is it, Alistair?"

Anora appeared annoyed as she lowered her eyes to her book once again, shifting her weight on that chaise. … When did they get a chaise?

He cleared his throat and took a few steps into the room, ineffectively attempting to hide the monstrous bouquet behind his back. "I have something for you."

She looked up at him again, then closed her book and set it to the side. She didn't look too enthralled, more like she was humoring him. At least she was giving him that courtesy.

"Listen, Anora, I…" He shook his head, frowning at her. "I know I haven't exactly been husband-of-the-year. I know I've been distant. And moody. And all sorts of things I didn't need to be. And I know I've been taking it out on you, sort of, and haven't been … there for you, like I should be. I know you miss Cailan. I know you do. And I miss somebody, too. But I'm tired of sitting around and moping about it, when I could be trying to make you happy. When I could be doing anything but sitting on my ass and letting you be this sad. You're a beautiful woman, Anora, and I should consider myself lucky to share a home with you let alone call you my wife, and my queen. And I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry for everything, and — and you know, I hear people get remarried all the time so — so maybe I can…"

He ignored the look on her face and lowered himself to a knee, pulling the flowers out from behind him.

"Anora, I know I'm not a perfect person. I know I'm rather a lot to handle sometimes. I know that maybe I'm not as stoic and serious as I should be sometimes and I know that bothers the blazes out of you. I know that … That you know I'm a Grey Warden and I might not have as much time left as I'd like and I might not ever be able to give you a child, but while I'm here, and while you're here with me, I don't ever want you to be sad. And I'm sorry for making you so sad. For — for letting you be so sad. And if you let me I'll take care of you the best I possibly can. I .. I know you said I'd be a horrible king, but I don't think I've done so bad so far. So maybe I can change your mind about my being a terrible husband. So, Anora, my beautiful, wonderful queen, will you re-marry me? It doesn't need to be fancy. Or it can be, I don't care, whatever makes you happy. Because I promise, all I want out of life is to make my wife happy. And I … Yeah, I think that's all."

He nodded, looking at the flowers and back to her, extending his arm a bit further so she may take it if she chose to. He could feel a sweat starting at the base of his hairline at the look she was giving him; her eyebrows were skewed, her lips puckered in that way she did when she got irritated. And he didn't know how long it was before she spoke, but he was glad she finally did — even if she told him to beat it at least he could get up and run away and not feel terrible about it.

"That is such a ludicrous notion," she started, sitting up in the chaise slightly, "and I'm not sure you know what getting re-married means, but…" She reached out and with both hands took the massive bouquet from him, her puckered lips relaxing into a smile. "It is a thoughtful and sweet gesture. And you know, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Yes, I think I would like that."

"Tr— truly?" Alistair's grin widened over his face and he moved closer to the chaise on his knees, resting his hand on her arm. "Oh— Oh, you won't regret it, Ano—Oh Maker—"

He reached to brush something in the bouquet, a large black fuzzy — thing, Alistair didn't even know, but it certainly didn't go away like he hoped it would, and instead landed on Anora's cheek, and when he tried to sweep at it again —

"Ow! Alistair!" She lowered the bouquet indignantly, clapping her cheek and effectively smashing the intruder, what fell to the chaise cushion, dead. "You didn't check for bees before giving me a bouquet of flowers?"

Alistair sighed, heavily, and mustered everything he could into a nervous chuckle.

"So, about that being a better husband thing. Can I start after you're finished being mad at me about this?"


End file.
